


Four Years A Soldier

by lalazee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Characters Added As They Arrive, Comedy, Consensual Sex, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Ice Skating, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Past Character Death, Past Underage, Pining, Post-Canon, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9557198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalazee/pseuds/lalazee
Summary: Following the events of Yuuri!!! On Ice, Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin found in each other a friendship they'd never previously experienced. And possibly more. Unfortunately, their ending came swift and final. As soon as Otabek had come into Yuri's life, white knight on a black motorbike, he was gone. The 'why' of the matter never came. For four years, Otabek remained in the shadows, totally eclipsed from the skating spotlight. And now he's back. Just like that. Only, it could never be 'just like that'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy the progression of this story! I hope I make you laugh and frown and worry and laugh some more. I love these lil' shits with all my heart, and I know you all do too. Enjoy! You can find me on Tumblr at atomicblonde.

“I’m apologize for my lateness,” Otabek said in fairly perfect Russian.

Yuri went still on the rink-side bench, pale fingers freezing at his second tiger striped high-top, failing to finish the tie.

Licking his chapped lips, he turned his head slowly. Looked up.

Otabek stood there, tan, broad-shouldered and strong under the long black parka he still wore indoors. The hood was down, exposing the same old haircut, same unreadable hazel eyes, same full, stern mouth.

Yuri’s lips tightened as he flicked his attention away, back to his shoe. He finished tying in silence, his hands working in short, sharp flicks.

His mind, however. 

Yeah, his mind was fucking _screaming_.

Yuri straightened and stood in one lithe motion, taking the time to pull his hoodie down over his hips. Tucking a stray fly-away length of hair behind his ear, Yuri sniffed from the cold and met Otabek’s patiently waiting gaze.

Even from a distance, that instinctive punch to the gut reaction remained.

If Yuri were a weaker man, maybe his knees would have quaked.

But since he didn’t have a single wimpy inch to show for, Yuri only heard the blood red roaring in his ears.

“You… _Apologize_ ,” Yuri said, his hands fisting at his sides.

Otabek shifted his duffel bag from one shoulder to the other. It looked heavy.

“I do. Very deeply.”

His voice was lower. Deeper than when they’d first met. But so was Yuri’s.

Yuri ran his tongue across his front teeth, cracked his neck with a sharp cock of his head.

Otabek’s attention briefly flicked to Yuri’s mouth, watching his tongue.

“ _Beka_ ,” Yuri said softly, then, just a murmur, as he broke past the icy span between them.

A few steps was all it took to stand close enough to smell the snow on his jacket, and the musky spiced warmth of Otabek’s own scent.

Yuri looked down, realizing with more than a little pleasure that he was now the taller of the two by a good several inches. _Somebody_ hadn’t grown a bit, and it wasn’t Yuri.

“Yuri,” Otabek said, his voice a low rumble as he peered up to meet Yuri’s eyes. “I –”

Yuri’s white-knuckled fist met Otabek’s gut with a resounding thud that shook them both.

“It’s been _four_ fucking _years_!”

Hunched over, clutching his stomach and coughing, Otabek stumbled a step back.

“Four years and you _apologize_?” Yuri said, probably screeching at this point – and he didn’t fucking care – as he launched himself forward.

Otabek didn’t recover fast enough before Yuri was literally on Otabek’s back. Long legs of steel clutched around Otabek’s middle, Yuri baring his teeth while he wrapped his arms around Otabek’s throat and started to squeeze.

“What the fuck are you doing here, _eh_?” Yuri squeezed harder, perversely enjoying Otabek’s wheeze of reply. “Gracing me with the goddamn presence of The Hero of Kazakhstan? Or should I say, The _Fallen_ Hero, at this point, right? _Right_?”

Otabek spun and slammed Yuri’s back against the skating rink wall.

Unfortunately for Yuri, the wall was only high enough to meet the small of his back. The pain refracted through his body, he yelped, let go, and promptly fell backwards over the wall, into the rink.

Head over fucking heels.

Breathing harder than if he’d finished a performance, Yuri felt his face go up in flame as he glared at the ceiling, his arms spread out either side of him.

Otabek peeked over the wall. His tan cheeks were flushed, his hair mussed.

“I suppose I expected something like that,” Otabek said, his voice a little thready. “Perhaps with less strangulation.”

Yuri clenched his teeth and literally growled as he slipped and slid to his feet in a completely ungraceful race towards that fucking bastard.

“I will literally fucking kill you!”

He vaulted the wall, ready to pounce again –

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing, Princess?” Boomed a voice loud enough to have Yuri freezing in place, his arms still outstretched in a tackle barely paused.

Coach Yakov stormed over, his huge mass overshadowing the both of them.

Yuri aimed one final snarl at Otabek’s impassive expression and slunk back, slouching against the rink wall with his arms folded tightly across his chest.

Before Yuri could say a word, Yakov opened his arms for Otabek and enveloped him in a quick bear hug.

“It’s good to see you back by ice. I apologize for the rabid stray. We can’t seem to get rid of him.”

Yuri held back a physical hiss, because that wouldn’t have done him any favors at this point. He sulked and glowered Yakov’s way.

“Mind telling me what _he_ is doing here?”

“Is all that hair getting in the way of your brain?” Yakov said, gesturing to the disheveled braid that ran down his back and stopped between his shoulder blades. “Why else would he be here but to train?”

Yuri’s jaw dropped. He stared at Yakov. Then at Otabek. Then back, and forth, and back.

Otabek shrugged.

“There’s no better place.”

“Right you are!” Yakov said jovially, slapping Otabek on the shoulder. “Now, Yuri, why are you starting fights? Mr. Altin here will be our guest for quite some time. And more importantly, he will be _your_ guest until we find him a decent apartment in this city.”

Yuri, who still hadn’t said a word for once, just blinked. And blinked again.

“ _Eh_?”

“You –” Yakov pointed at him, then at Otabek. “Him. Roommates until we find him something better. What’s the problem?  You’ve done it before with others.”

Yuri released a breath from his nose and scrubbed his slim hands over his face. He dragged them down and flopped them lifelessly at his sides. He noted Yakov’s no-arguments expression, then Otabek’s minuscule shrug.

This was actually happening, wasn’t it?

“Yeah, I guess.” Yuri rolled his tense shoulders and pocketed his fists in his tight black jeans. “You couldn’t have told me sooner?” He said roughly.

Yakov grinned.

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. After all, you two are old friends, yes?”

Yuri smiled and knew he probably looked more like a deranged murderer.

“It’s _that_ obvious, huh? Well!” Yuri said, barely holding back hysterics, “Let’s head home, _Mister_ Altin. It’s already dark as fuck out and I need a drink.”

Otabek watched Yuri as he collected his own pack and armed himself in a thick coat with a fur hood.

“Thank you, Coach Yakov,” Otabek said, sounding like his disgustingly noble self. “For everything from this point onwards.”

_Noble, my ass_ , Yuri thought to himself with a snort. _If only they fucking knew._

“And thank _you_ , Yuri,” Otabek said, turning and nodding at him. Something in his dark eyes glimmered – humor? “Thank you for the welcome.”

“My pleasure,” Yuri said flatly.

He looked away before he could get too caught up in reading Otabek’s expressions. He knew how that could go.

Taking a steadying breath to himself while Otabek and Yakov said their goodbyes, Yuri flipped up the fur of his hood and frowned at his feet.

The Hero had come back to him. Four years too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments forever welcome! I love to hear from you!
> 
> But more than anything, I love to bring these boys to you!

Of course, Yuri made Otabek drag his own fucking luggage along the snowy sidewalk. He’d come with only a duffel and a rolling suitcase. But that was Otabek all over. He rarely brought much baggage anywhere.

Maybe Yuri had been that kind of baggage too.

Shaking his head, Yuri grimaced against the below-zero wind stinging his face and kept up their silent walk.

Honestly, had he been alone he would have caught a taxi. But he wasn’t alone. And he was also a spiteful asshole, so here they were.

Of course, Otabek kept up with Yuri’s long, hasty strides with ease. Despite Otabek’s height, he was still an athlete. Probably. Well, Yuri would find that out come tomorrow. He’d see what The Hero still had going for himself after all those years.

All those years. What had happened?

It didn’t matter.

“This is me – us,” Yuri said.

He stopped and gestured to the grand, stone building looming before them. They were luxury apartments – not that Yuri needed or really cared if he had one. That was his Mom all over. She’d _insisted_.

 “Wow,” was all Otabek said.

“I guess.” Yuri shrugged. “Come on.”

Without thinking, he stripped the duffel from Otabek’s shoulder and walked up the wide stone steps to the entrance.

The doorman, Aleksei, had the double doors opened for them before they reached the front. If there was one thing this place was good for, it was keeping away the rabid fangirls.

Otabek followed Yuri into the elevators, stood too close to his side for comfort.

Yuri squared his shoulders and lifted his chin in personal defiance. For Fuck’s sake, he could handle standing next to the guy. He wasn’t fifteen anymore. Hell, even at fifteen he hadn’t been this tense around Otabek. Or anyone.

He hadn’t had reason for nerves back then. He hadn’t known what could come. They’d just been friends.

And Yuri had, admittedly, been desperate for a friend.

Otabek had a made a good one. Loyal, strong, a good listener, supportive in Yuri’s training. And, as their relationship had grown, Yuri had discovered more to Otabek’s personality. Passion, affection, depth of emotion.

The elevator bell tolled and brought Yuri from his tense thoughts.

A frown still carved deep into his face, he set off down the hall to his door.

“It’s probably a mess. I don’t remember,” Yuri said, fumbling his keys with icy fingers. “There’s a spare room though, and that’s neat because no one goes in there.”

Without fanfare, Yuri swung open the door to the darkened apartment and left Otabek to shut the door and follow.

The front door opened to an expansive living room, complete with a wide brick hearth, flatscreen television propped on the wall above it, plush black leather couches, and a dramatic width of windows with no curtains.

The view was incredible as ever. Winter Moscow in lights. Yuri never got tired of it.

Scattering the walls were photographs of places he’d traveled around the world. There was a multi-frame with a compilation of his winning moments – holding silver twice, and gold twice. Pillows and throws scattered the couches in a wide range of outrageous animal prints.

“You no longer live with your mother,” Otabek said casually.

Yuri kicked off his shoes randomly into the room. Otabek carefully slipped off his battered black biker boots and set them neatly to the side.

“That woman is a terror. I couldn’t live in her pink palace any longer.”

“It never suited you,” Otabek said, looking around.

The living room gave way to a hallway, branched off into the kitchen, a bathroom, and the two bedrooms.

Yuri went straight to the guest room. Otabek was a smart guy – he could figure shit out. Didn’t need a grand tour.

“This is yours,” Yuri said, opening the door and allowing Otabek to go in first this time.

Otabek flicked on the lights as he entered, dutifully rolling his luggage to the closet and leaving it there. He looked around quietly, unreadable as ever since he’d arrived.

The room was nothing special. Deep, midnight blue walls, accented with pure white furniture, white wooden headboard to keep the room fresh and bright and striking. Windows, no curtains again, lined the wall behind the bed. The comforter and pillows were clad in cheerful yellow, white, and grey stripes.

“It reminds me of you,” Otabek said, sliding out of his coat and hanging it on the back of a white wooden chair set before a dressing table and mirror.

“Whaddayou know about me?” Yuri said, a dare in his eyes.

To that, Otabek’s lips curved just a little, but the quiet smile didn’t meet his eyes.

“You’ve changed and are still the same.”

“What’s changed?” Yuri asked before he could clamp his mouth shut. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway.

Otabek cocked his head a little, considering. His gaze was warm amber.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve figured that out.”

“Whatever,” Yuri said with a dismissive wave. He was already turning away. “Food is in the kitchen, obviously. Eat whatever you want. Training starts at eight. Don’t expect me to wake your ass up. And don’t even _think_ about waking _me_ up.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Otabek said, his small smile now reaching his eyes.

“What the hell are you smiling about?” Yuri said, biting off each word.

Otabek’s smile faded immediately. Silently, his movements as elegant as his skating, he crossed the room and stood in the doorway, too close.

He met Yuri’s eyes directly, unblinking.

“I am… extremely happy to be here with you.”

The breath caught in Yuri’s throat. He swallowed it down hard.

“You don’t look very happy.”

“Believe me,” Otabek said, just a murmured as his gaze swept across Yuri’s flushing features. “I haven’t wanted anything more.”

The breaks slammed against Yuri’s heart.

Yuri braced a hand on Otabek’s wide, sturdy chest and pushed himself away and back into the hallway.

“Coulda fooled me,” Yuri said, his look guarded as he took another step in retreat. “I’m – I’m going to bed.”

He didn’t run away, but thank fuck his legs were long enough to take him to his bedroom fast.

Yuri definitely needed that drink.

And drink he did.

Raiding the mini fridge in his bedroom, Yuri filled an empty bedside water bottle with too much vodka, and not enough cranberry juice. He took a drink, hissed a breath, and flopped back on his bed.

What had just happened?

In the span of an hour, he had been forcibly reunited with the one and only Otabek Altin and basically forced into living with him.

What the fuck was he going to do with that?

And this feeling?

Yuri frowned as he rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest, over his heart. That old pain still smarted, apparently.

Which just pissed him off more.

Yeah, he could work off that anger, Yuri thought as he sat up to a slouch and took a slug of his drink. Lord knew he had plenty of that to spare.

He sat in his own sulking silence for a while before he remembered to turn on some loud, vindictive folk punk.

_This is a love song to the rubble we've been building and to everything broken, or breaking, or falling apart, like we are. And well, I don't think that it's ever gonna end, the way things devour each other again and again._

An hour later and Yuri was drunk as fuck, early as hell on a Thursday night.

He groped at his phone and dialed.

“ _Hellooo_?” Mila said with a smile in her voice. “Yurio, darling, how are you holding up?”

“Holding up?” Yuri said, his brow furrowing as the bed kind of swayed beneath him. “You old hag, you knew all along he was coming!”

“Only whispers, I promise you,” she said with a laugh.

“Lies! Everyone’s a goddamn liar.”

“Now now, it’s not the end of the world. Yakov told me he’s looking to work up to the Grand Prix Final this year. I’m sure he’ll have more important things on his mind than getting in your way.”

“I don’t care if he gets in my fucking way. The GPF,” Yuri said with a scoff. “He’s old and unpracticed. I’ll beat him right into the ice.”

“He’s only twenty-two,” Mila said with chuckle. “Yurio, are you already drunk?”

“Are _you_ already obnoxious? Well, looks like we’ve both answered those questions for each other. _Ugh_.”

Yuri fell back against the bed and groaned again at the way his stomach turned.

 “Yuri…” Mila said softly. “Don’t let this bring you down. If anything, this is the type of thing you should use to make you into a better competitor. I know he hurt you –”

“He didn’t,” Yuri said flatly. “We didn’t know each other long enough for that. I just don’t see why he has to be _here_ , of all places.”

“Don’t you?”

“Don’t I what?” Yuri said, his eyes growing heavy.

“See why he wants to be here.”

“I…”

Yuri paused, then snarled at the phone without another word. He chucked it across the room, rolled over onto his stomach, and sent himself to sleep with his clothes still on.

***

“Yuri?”

Yuri hummed a sound of contentment and rolled onto his back.

“Yuri…”

He arched, his spine curving in a lithe cat-like stretch. He may have even purred.

A large, warm hand circled his wrist. Rough palms. Hard-working hands, calloused and trustworthy.

“ _Yuri_ , wake up.”

Yuri grimaced and yawned, throwing his arms over his head. And realized no one should be touching him in his bed.

His eyes snapped open.

He stared at Otabek.

Yuri shot up in bed and scrambled back to the headboard, simultaneously chucking a pillow at Otabek’s face.

“What the fuck are you _doing_?” Yuri heard his voice go up to a shrill pitch and didn’t particularly care. “Literally what was the only thing I told you not to do?”

Otabek shrugged and shoved his hands into the pockets of grey, ripped jeans. They were loose and worn and old. They may have even been from the days they were together.

“Well, it’s quarter to eight, so I figured you’d want to know.”

Yuri slowly lowered the second pillow he was about to fling.

“Quarter to eight?” he said carefully.

His head was fuzzy. Not only did he know that he looked like a complete train wreck, but Otabek was standing there fresh from the shower, his hair still damp and his clothes smelling fresh and glorious.

“Ten to eight, now,” Otabek said casually, slipping his phone from his back pocket to check.

“Fuck me,” Yuri said as he scrambled from the bed. He made a beeline for the corner of the room where he’d thrown his phone the night before.

The screen was cracked across and the battery was dead.

“This is your fault, y’know,” Yuri said between gritted teeth as he tossed his phone to the bed.

Completely ignoring Otabek’s presence in the haze of his fury, he yanked his closet door open and dug for clothes. Warm up clothes were in his duffel – he just needed any old shit to get him to the rink.

Yuri unzipped his hoodie and dropped it to the floor. Struggled with his t-shirt and threw that aside, too. He was flicking through shirts in his closet when he heard Otabek cough.

“What? What do you want?” Yuri said, looking over his shoulder.

“I’ll just –” Otabek’s face was flushed, his eyes shining as he appeared to be unable to take his gaze off the expanse of Yuri’s pale, well-muscled back. “Wait in the other room.”

He was gone, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Yuri raised an eyebrow and shrugged before getting back to his clothes.

He’d grown a lot in the last four years. Not just in height, where he now stood a proud five foot nine. He was still slim, but muscular now, lean athletic muscle and hard, toned shoulders. A dancer’s body still, but no longer an awkward teenager.

Yeah, he was still nineteen. But that was a far cry from the fifteen year-old pipsqueak Otabek had probably kept in his mind.

Dressed, Yuri brushed his tangled hair out and reminded himself to get a trim. Braided it down his back once more in quick, efficient moves, grabbed his dead phone – he’d charge it at training – and headed out.

He found Otabek in the kitchen, feeding the cat.

As if Yuri didn’t feel enough like a fuck-up right now.

“Thanks,” Yuri gritted out.

“Not a problem,” Otabek said, looking utterly composed, approached Yuri.

Yuri stiffened, waiting, but Otabek just brushed past.

“Shall we take a taxi this time?” he said, heading into the living room. 

“Y-Yeah,” Yuri said, watching Otabek slip into his coat and zip up.  
  
This was so weird. Every interaction left Yuri on edge, and it both pissed him off and weakened him.

Otabek was here to train. The past was the past.

Yuri had gotten his punches in – something he had dreamed of for the entire first year of their separation.

Otabek was not here for him.

Yes, he was happy to see Yuri. They’d had a lot of good times. Actually, _only_ good times.

Until Otabek had up and disappeared without a word the very next day.

They both carried good memories of a period in their lives which was now closed. Otabek had been the one to close it. He was obviously way past over the drama of days gone by, and was only concerned with furthering his career once more.

Yuri could admit to himself that he was shook up by his sudden presence. But more than anything, he just wanted his life to go back to the way it was a day ago.

He could have that, mostly. He didn’t have to engage with Otabek outside of going to and from training, really. Otabek was an adult – several years older than him. He could take care of himself. Just as Yuri needed no one.

_Yes_ , Yuri assured himself as they made their way outside and Otabek hailed a cab. He was stronger than this. A lot stronger. He’d keep up with his training, keep up with his frugal social life, and keep Otabek unequivocally _out_.

That would suit them both just fine.

When they arrived in the welcoming warmth of the entryway, Yuri lifted his face and hummed.  
  
“Fuck, it’s bitter out,” he said without thinking.

“I never miss the cold,” Otabek said.

“You picked the wrong place to train, then,” Yuri said, shrugging out of his coat.

“I think this is exactly what I need."

Yuri raised an eyebrow at Otabek’s placid expression. He opened to his mouth to question him, but was interrupted by a hoot and holler in the distance.

He made out the blur of Viktor’s ridiculous glee before he was tackled and engulfed by arms in a soft, lavender dress shirt and the smell of fresh snow that forever clung to Viktor’s skin.

“Yurio – my Yurio!”

“Not your – _mmf_ –”

Yuri struggled to free himself from Viktor’s deathgrip of adoration, but it was no use. He settled for patting Viktor on the back.

With a breezy sigh, Viktor gripped Yuri by the forearms and held him out for smiling inspection.

“Are you taller again?”

“Since a month ago? No,” Yuri said flatly. “Where’s the Little Piggy?”

“Oh, he stayed with his parents for another couple of weeks to help with the business. His Mama had a little fall recently.”

“That sucks.”

“What’s _this_ though?” Viktor’s face crumpled as he turned Yuri around and inspected the pale, pastel blue streak that ribboned through his braid. Making a pathetically mournful noise, Viktor whirled him around and hugged him again. “Your beautiful hair! Why would you do this to me?”

Firmly dislodging himself from Viktor’s tentacle grip, Yuri gestured to Otabek standing there awkwardly.

“Viktor, Otabek Altin – Otabek, Viktor.”

“Oh, wow!” Viktor rushed up and took Otabek’s hand, shaking it warmly. “It’s been so long, hasn’t it? How are you? How is your family fairing now? I heard you’ll be training here for the Grand Prix Final – how wonderful! Please do give Yurio a run for his money again. He’s getting awfully cocky, even for him.”

For the first time since Otabek had arrived, his teeth flashed in a charmed smile.

“I plan on giving him an extremely hard time.”

“You’re telling me,” Yuri said under his breath.

He rushed forward, grabbing Otabek’s wrist as he continued to walk.

“Sorry!” Yuri called behind him, “Can’t talk forever. We’re already late.”

Despite the depth of cold that lurked outside, Otabek’s wrist was warm. He’d always been like that. He’d always carried the sun in him, somehow. 

Yuri startled and dropped Otabek’s hand as if he’d been burnt.  
  
They both headed to the dress rooms in silence. Changed in silence, facing opposite directions. Headed out to the rink in silence.

“You two are so- _ooo_ late,” Mila said with a gleeful greeting. She aimed a wink at Yuri. “Have a good night?”

“This is all your fault,” Yuri said, clearly dead inside.

“ _Oiy_!” Yakov’s voice came from the center of the ice where he was with a young student. “You two think you can be late just because you’re the Princess and the Hero? You’re the same as this child here! Twenty-five laps around the ice – _NOW_.”

Yuri bit back a groan. He knew better than to complain.  It would be fifty laps, quick as a blink.

“Hey,” Otabek said from behind him.

Yuri peered over his shoulder, his brow furrowed.

The corner of Otabek’s mouth pulled in a little half-grin that brought back too many memories.

“I’ll race you.”

A fire built in Yuri’s belly.

“A twenty-five lap race?”

“You think I’ll beat you?”

At that, Yuri couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh.

“In your dreams, old man. In your dreams.”

***

They’d actually managed to avoid each other quite well through the day.

They practiced on opposite sides of the rink.

Yuri had his own routines to work on. And with Viktor there, he benefited from hours of one on one attention. There was no one with an eye for precision and performance like Viktor.

Otabek was working on a lot of warm-ups. Smoothing out kinks in his jumps, his footwork. His _body_ , though. His arms.

He moved as elegantly as ever. Understated and powerful, a quiet leader from which the audience couldn’t look away.

He didn’t look rusty, really. If anything, he exuded elegant strength.

The clock had struck eight in the evening by the time everyone collapsed for the day.

“It’s Friday,” Viktor announced with a hoot of joy. “Let’s go drink!”

“Let’s not and say we did,” Yuri said, his stomach gurgling with the memory of last night. “Anyway, your fat husband isn’t here to embarrass himself, so where’s the joy in it?”

“He _is_ entertaining, isn’t he?” Viktor said, basically with heart-eyes. “I really must text him now.”

He whipped out his found and began typing with a wide smile.

Yuri rolled his eyes.

“Let’s eat, though,” Mila said. “I’m starving and I know Georgi is looking to eat his feelings from his most recent breakup.”

“She wasn’t even pretty,” Yuri said with indifference.

“No one’s as pretty as you,” Mila said with a grin.

She flicked his ear and laughed at Yuri’s hiss.

“ _I_ used to be,” Viktor said mournfully, not looking up from his apparent essay of a text message.

“No one’s on _your_ level, Viktor,” Mila said, like a placating mother hen.

A rumble of male laughter came from the direction of the locker rooms. Georgi trailed off at a chuckle as he exited, his smile wide as listened to whatever Otabek was saying beside him.

Well. _That_ was new.

Yuri scowled.

He had never seen Otabek chat with such ease to _anyone_. Except for Yuri himself. When had _that_ happened?

Maybe Otabek wasn’t as ‘same-old’ as Yuri had first assumed.

“Georgi!” Mila called out as they came closer, “Otabek. We’re all going to eat, okay?”

“And dancing!” Viktor said, popping up from the bench and pocketing his phone. “Let’s dance.”

“I swear you suck the blood of youths for this energy,” Yuri said, moving to a stand and stretching is arms above his head.

Of course, they ended up dancing. And eating. And there was maybe a little more drinking involved. 

The dual restaurant and club had a vibrant atmosphere, and soon everyone was buzzing with renewed energy.  
  
Their table was a riot of conversation, colorful swears and stories.

Minus Little Piggy, this felt like – well, the old days. When Viktor and Yuuri had moved to Moscow together, gotten engaged, lived in a bliss that positively affected everyone around them.

The days when Otabek had done the very same.

For lack of better place to stay, Otabek had roomed in Yuri’s mother’s house as well. They’d been inseparable. Training together, motorcycle rides together, tangled on the couch watching television together, perusing the markets and book stores, and making fun of movies at the theater.

Their first kiss together.

Yuri blinked, narrowed his eyes to concentrate on the story Mila was telling.

But his thoughts had swept in the wrong direction – no thanks to the vodka again – and he was caught in a thick, high snow drift of memories. The avalanche was claustrophobic.

“Hey,” Yuri said, leaning in to Mila beside him, his hand squeezing hers lightly. “I’m gonna get some air.”

Mila regarded him for a careful moment and nodded.

He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Yuri burst out the front door sans coat, but his skin was too hot for a shiver just yet.

Pulling the hood of his sweater up over his head and digging his hands into his pockets, Yuri leaned back against the icy brick. He watched the nightly party kids laugh and chat in drunken gaggles down the street.

The doors of the establishment opened, thumping bass and song with brief intensity.

Yuri was busy staring up at the clear night sky and the crystal stars. He didn’t notice anyone sidle up beside him until their shoulder pressed warmly against his arm.

Startled, Yuri shot darts at his neighbor, his expression only narrowing when he found himself staring into the Otabek’s earnest, shadowed face.

“What?” Yuri said, unmoving.

Their noses were too close. But he’d had too much vodka and he’d caught Otabek packing away a few too many whiskeys himself.

“Did we ever dance together?” Otabek said, his voice a little heavy with the weight of drink.

Yuri blinked, surprised.

“No.”

They’d skated together. That was different. That was deeper – for the both of them.

“ _Hm_ ,” Otabek said, nodding a little to himself.

“Why?” Yuri found himself asking. He didn’t know why he was always opening his big mouth. “You wanna dance with me?”

“Not yet,” Otabek said simply. “It’s not right, yet.”

“ _Yet_?” Yuri scoffed. “How about never.”

“Not yet,” was all Otabek said, looking out to the street.

His breath released into the sky in huge plumes. Yuri remembered what it was like to feel that hot breath on his cold, chapped mouth. He licked his lips, chewed down on his bottom lip for a moment.

“You’re drunk,” Yuri said.

A slow smile bloomed on Otabek’s face, lips curved wickedly in the corners in a way no one ever got to see. But for Yuri. Otabek tipped his head back against the wall and shifted, canting his chin to smile up at Yuri.

“A little. Maybe more. It felt somewhat necessary.”

Yuri caught Otabek’s scent on the crisp wind. Foreign spices and a deep, masculine musk.

There was more different to him now, than just his ability to small talk with acquaintances and strangers. A confidence had emerged – some hint of surety in his voice that had once been only reserved for talk of ice skating and victory. Now, there was more.

Otabek was a man now, a full grown man.

And Yuri was only one year older than Otabek had been when they’d met each other. Fuck. That put shit in perspective.

“Why?” Yuri said, realizing he’d been staring silently at Otabek’s new harder, sharper features. Wider jaw, thicker eyebrows, a little white scar at the corner of his left eyebrow.

“Because I’m starting a new chapter,” Otabek said, holding Yuri’s gaze with intensity. “Clean slate.”

Yuri’s lips curved, though not in humor.

“No such thing as a clean slate, buddy.”

Otabek’s expression dropped, but he didn’t look away.

“Yuri, I’m so sorry I –”

“I’m cold,” Yuri said, pushing off the wall suddenly. He was shivering, and it wasn’t from the weather. “I’m heading in. See you there.”

“ _Yuri_.” Otabek’s voice cracked.

Yuri half turned, stared and waited. Otabek’s eyebrows were pulled in tightly, a wrinkle across his forehead.

“Can we talk about this? When you’re ready.”

This time, Yuri smiled.

“Beka. None of it matters enough to talk about.”

Yuri turned away quickly and managed to wipe the mist of tears from his eyes by the time he’d reached the table.

_Safe now_ , Yuri thought with a shuddering breath.  
  
Now began a new chapter for both of them. Apart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely readers! I hope you enjoy this little peek in to the past. There'll be more to come.
> 
> Next chapter is a doozy. And we also get some Otabek POV, because aren't we always just dying to know what's going on in his head?
> 
> Enjoy! Comments welcome! You can also reach me at atomicblonde.tumblr.com

Life was easier and harder now, depending on which angle Yuri looked.  
  
Easier, because Otabek had been successfully avoiding any and all unnecessary socialization with Yuri.  
  
Harder, because Otabek had been successfully avoiding any and all unnecessary socialization with Yuri.  
  
After barely twenty-four hours reunited, Yuri had managed to put the boundaries on their new, unstable relationship.  
  
He reminded himself every day for the past week that these boundaries were what he'd wanted. Needed.  
  
But damn if it didn't hurt more than he'd anticipated.  
  
Catching Otabek’s shower-fresh scent lingering in the apartment.  Hearing him hum a song, a little off-key, while he was in his open-doored bedroom, folding laundry. The way he always remembered to feed the cat before Yuri could get to it. His familiar, mellow rumble of laughter as he spoke on the phone to his family.  
  
His family.  
  
Otabek would be going back to them soon. As he was starting from the bottom again, he needed to place in the preliminary competition within his own country.  
  
Yuri knew that would be a walk in the park for him.  
  
In the past week alone, Otabek had proven to be a tireless warrior. He sweat, bled, and iced his bruises every night. He never look frustrated, only increasingly determined.  
  
Not like Yuri, across the rink, spitting arguments at Viktor like a wet cat for the past week. Yuri was on edge, there was no hiding it.  
  
And Otabek barely looked at him.  
  
So, was this really it?  
  
Was Otabek that uninterested in explaining himself?  
  
And was Yuri really so fucking petty that he'd shut Otabek down and now expected him to grovel?  
  
Okay, maybe he was. Just a little.  
  
Of course he wanted to know. He just didn't think he could handle whatever he would hear.  
  
Yuri knew only one fact surrounding Otabek's overnight disappearance.   
  
Otabek's father had died that day.   
  
But why the following radio silence for four years?   
  
Yuri has texted, emailed, sent a goddamn letter as a last resort. For six months he had kept it up. And there had been nothing.   
  
Otabek - loyal, unflinching, noble - had simply abandoned him.  
  
Evening had long fallen for the day. Everyone had gone home by now, and every light was shut down minus those above the ice.  
  
This was Otabek's last night before he left for home again.   
  
Yuri sat in the bleachers tonight, one elbow propped on his knee, his cheek pillowed against his open palm.  
  
He watched Otabek cut through his performance like a knight with a sword, riding his swift steed.  

Yuri couldn’t tear his eyes away from that unflinching grace.  
  
And Yuri realized he was terrified that Otabek would, once more, leave indefinitely.  
  
It was impossible, of course. This was Otabek's training ground, now.  
  
Four years in the making, that nagging fear still bit at him. Shaped him.  
  
Otabek slid to his final position with a flourish, one hand at his side in a fist. His lips trembled, his chest heaving.  
  
Yuri clapped lazily in the distance.  
  
" _Davai_ ," he said roughly, his voice filled with unexpected emotion.   
  
Otabek's stocky frame went loose, his eyes narrowing as he attempted to search the shadowed bleachers.  
  
With a sigh to himself, Yuri stood and slung his duffel over his shoulder.   
  
"It was good," Yuri said, making his way down the stairs. This was the first conversation he'd actually begun with Otabek in a week.  
  
"Not as good as me," Yuri said with a grin as he leaned forward against the wall, his arms folded atop it. "But very good."

Otabek glided over, his face stern.

"Thank you," he said lowly. "Why did you wait?"

"What's it called?" Yuri said, catching Otabek's gaze. Their eyes met. 

_There you are._ _  
_

Otabek blinked, his stare seeming a little glazed over as he regarded Yuri.

"What?"

"The piece. What's it called?"

Otabek's expression sharpened. He slid forward until Yuri could hear the bump of skates against the rink wall.

They were closer now than they had been in a week, too.

"Savior."

"Ah." It seemed apt. The desperation of the dance, the deep core strength required in so many of the moves. "Who're you saving, then - your country, your fans? Your reputation?"

"No," Otabek said simply.

Yuri frowned. 

"What then?"

"Why did you wait for me?"

_I haven't stopped waiting for you._ _  
_

"I wanted to see it as it was meant to be seen."

Otabek placed his hands on the wall, just outside of Yuri's folded arms. Leaning in, his countenance intensified as if he were searching Yuri's face for something.

"You weren't such a liar when you were a kid,” Otabek said.

Yuri's eyes widened briefly before they narrowed. His face went hot.

"You didn't seem to think I was much of a kid back then, Beka. Did you?"

Yuri dropped his gaze to Otabek's mouth. Watched his lips part slightly, his breath release with the barest tremble. 

Tipping forward slowly, his lashes lowered coyly, Yuri brought his mouth to the curve of Otabek's ear. 

"Remember?"

Otabek inhaled sharply. 

"I remember.” He swallowed tightly. “I remember you kissing me when I was vulnerable. And I - and I made a poor decision in return."

Yuri yanked himself back, his aghast expression frozen in shock. A sharp pain jabbed between his ribs.

" _Poor decision_? That's what you call kissing me back? A poor decision?"

"You were fifteen, Yuri," Otabek said, his eyes dark and mournful. "And my best friend. I didn't want to kiss -"

"Didn't want to kiss me?" Yuri spat out the words in disgust. "Good. _Great_. Glad to hear it."

"Yuri, that's not what I m-"

"Well, this has been enlightening," Yuri said with a hollow laugh as he began to march around the rink's border, away from this scene. His voice echoed across every corner of the vast, vacant arena. "Go home, Beka. And hell, if you don't come back this time, I won't try so hard to find you."

Otabek may have said something in return, but Yuri was already out the door.

When he reached the barren, icy sidewalk, he stopped sharp on his heels. 

Fuck, he didn't want to go home tonight. Couldn't, when he knew Otabek had to return for one final time before he boarded his plane in the morning. 

With his eyes stinging and blurred, Yuri waved down a taxi. He got in, fully prepared to take himself to Viktor or Mila's house to vent and drink away his problems. 

Then he remembered he wasn't a fucking coward. He was stronger than this bullshit, and there was no _way_ he'd let Otabek make him look weak.

Yuri arrived at his apartment a little calmer and, admittedly, a little shakier on his feet than he'd have liked. 

Prepared to appear completely and utterly unconcerned – just to spite Otabek – Yuri kicked off his outerwear and flung himself haphazardly to the couch. He flicked on the television, hoping to look engrossed and chill as fuck when Otabek ended up home. 

Instead, Yuri passed out cold. 

***

"Beka?" Yuri said, almost nervous to break the strained hush in the room.

He scooted a little closer on his bed, where they both sat together. Only minutes ago, they’d been animatedly bickering over a paired skating performance they'd watched from the Winter Olympics.

Then Otabek's cellphone had rung.

When he'd seen it was his mother, he'd picked up with a small smile.

The content expression had faded fast. 

"What?" Otabek had said, his voice a mere rasp. "Wait. Wait. What… You're wrong, that doesn't make any s- Yes... Yes... Okay. I - okay... You too."

Otabek never even hung up. He sat statue-still, his face gone pale, the phone still at his ear. 

" _Beka_ ," Yuri said, worry creeping into his stomach. "What the hell? Are you okay? What -"

"Heart attack," Otabek said, his voice void of emotion. His eyes flicked to Yuri's, dark and dull. He let go of the phone, just let it drop from his ear to the bed. "My dad. He's… dead. I guess."

Yuri stared. He didn't know what to do. How to act or what to say. But his heart ached for Otabek.

Wordlessly, Yuri reached out and placed a hand over Otabek's. He physically turned Otabek's hand himself and threaded their fingers.

"I'm sorry," Yuri said, feeling small and useless. 

In this moment, Otabek looked so much older. Like he'd hardened a layer over himself the minute he heard the news.

"Beka," Yuri said again, squeezing Otabek's hand.

When Yuri got no reaction, he leaned in and dropped his forehead against Otabek's. Yuri watched Otabek's eyes flutter shut, then let his own close.

"Beka, I'm sorry. Just... Sit here. I've got you."

They remained like that for a time, Yuri concentrating on the unnaturally slow rate of Otabek's breathing. He felt almost comatose. 

The abrupt sob that ripped from Otabek's throat tore Yuri in half.

Yuri had never experienced this kind of pain in his life. Couldn't relate at all to the unabashed weeping that flooded the room in crashing waves.

Certainly had never imagined a person like Otabek could make such tortured sounds of heartbreak. 

Instinctively, Yuri flung his arms around Otabek, guilelessly straddling his lap in order to get close enough for Otabek to bury his damp face in crook of Yuri's neck.

Otabek's trembling arms linked around Yuri's back in turn. They rocked each other as one, back and forth while Otabek soaked Yuri's shoulder with tears.

Yuri had never really comforted anyone. No one had ever expected something like that from him, or come to him for it in the first place. Yuri was not a consoler by nature.

However, this was Otabek. He was a huge part of Yuri’s world. He was Yuri’s closest friend.

"Hey," Yuri said gently. He pulled back enough to survey Otabek's lowered gaze. His thick, black lashes were clumped into spikes with damp.

Otabek sucked in a shuddering breath that trembled through his weakened frame. 

Yuri frowned, cupped Otabek's face in his palms.

"Beka," Yuri said, his eyes soft as he coerced Otabek's watery gaze to meet his own. "You need to rest. Maybe sleep."

"I can't," Otabek said in a cracked voice. He didn't look away, but tears streamed silently down his wan cheeks.

Yuri swept his thumbs beneath Otabek's eyes, brushed away his tears as they fell.

" _Shhh_..." Yuri leaned in thoughtlessly. " _Shhh_..."

With his heart hurting in his chest for his best friend, Yuri pressed a kiss beneath Otabek's eye, his lips catching salty tears.

To be allowed so close, when Otabek had boundaries set for everyone he knew, sent a thrill humming in Yuri’s stomach.

Yuri kissed beneath the other eye. Kissed Otabek's bruised eyelids, and down the strong bridge if his nose. Otabek’s scent encompassed Yuri with warmth and spice, a heady note that had Yuri’s mind spinning.

Otabek went still, his face still held between Yuri's palms.  He didn't open his eyes, but he didn't yank himself away either. 

Yuri was already too lost to notice. Light, salt-stained kisses trailed down to the corner of Otabek's mouth.

Otabek trembled. No longer did he weep, nor did he make a sound until he swallowed hard.

With a dainty flick of tongue, Yuri licked at the damp corner of Otabek’s down-turned lips.

Otabek groaned and swayed into Yuri's touch. 

Yuri had never heard a noise like that in his life. Now he had this beautiful, powerful man making it just for him. 

Yuri released a shaky breath against Otabek's lips, just hovering as he tried to understand just what the hell this swelling in his heart was.

Then Otabek's arms enveloped him, held him fast and close and too tight. Yuri gasped, his eyes shooting open just as Otabek crushed his mouth to Yuri's.

A quick, insistent tongue broke its way past Yuri's lips, and Yuri swore his felt his body quake to the bone. 

A deep hum emerged from Otabek's throat as Yuri battled him in return with his own clumsy lashings of tongue. They clung to each other, Otabek's fingertips bruising Yuri’s back, where they dug their place.

Yuri moaned, his voice thin and breathy and not his own, as he instinctively arched against Otabek's hard, hot body.

Otabek jolted.

His hands wrapped around Yuri's slim forearms, and before Yuri could process anything, he was being slowly, firmly slid off of Otabek's lap.

Yuri whimpered - he couldn't fucking help it, and wasn’t present enough to be embarrassed.

"Beka."

" _Yuri_ ," Otabek said emphatically, his voice unsteady. "Yuri, why - how - _Jesus_."

Yuri opened his eyes, found them locking on Otabek's own wide, pupil-blown gaze. His cheeks were flushed, his lips a bruised cherry as Otabek continued to gawk.

"Um. At least your color is back," Yuri said, offering a wobbly smile. His body felt like jelly.

"Yuri." Otabek’s mouth moved, though no sound came. He dropped his hands to his lap. He wouldn't look away from Yuri's sore lips as he spoke. "I think that I... Really need to sleep now. And - and alone."

"Wait," Yuri said quickly, snapping out of his stupor in time to watch Otabek retreat from the bed. "Hold up."

Otabek paused, his back turned, his hand already on the doorknob.

Without a backward look, Otabek turned the knob.

"Goodnight, Yuri. Thank you for... for always being there."

Yuri scowled.

"Idiot. Whatever you need. You talk to me."

"I won't forget," Otabek said.

He shut the door behind him.

They would be the last words Otabek ever said to him.

Yuri always found it funny, because that had been exactly what he'd done.

***

Yuri cracked open one bleary eye.

He was sprawled in disarray across the couch. Morning light streamed cheerfully through the windows. Someone had put a blanket over him in the night. 

Squinting hazily at the ceiling, Yuri allowed himself to swim between the past and present. The dream world which reflected back at him one of his most important, meaningful – and painful – memories. 

Otabek's old words still echoed in his head.

The pain still stung more than Yuri felt it should.

Was everyone’s first love like this?

Love.

Yuri sat up and ran a hand through his unruly hair, which had slipped free from its braid.

Yeah, love. He supposed that _had_ been love.

As friends, they had undoubtedly loved each other. Otabek had always been plentiful with his encouragement, his affection, and warmth.

Maybe not in the way others came to expect affection. Not the kind of lavish friendliness for which Viktor was known.

More like, Otabek had always remained at Yuri’s side – close.

Shoulder to shoulder, always a helping hand ready. He hugged Yuri warmly, hello and goodbye. Wrapped and iced Yuri’s feet when they were too sore to stand on.

He didn’t hang off of or cling with his fondness. In their few months together, he’d always just _been_ there. Dependable.

Yuri had little to no experience with dependable.

His grandfather, Otabek – and later on Viktor, although not in those early years.

With a former Russian idol as a mother, who got knocked up by a still unknown mystery man – and at sixteen, no less – Yuri hadn’t exactly grown up understanding how to lean on someone.

During her teen years, Yuri’s mom had considered him little more than a doll. A cute fashion accessory that she could dress up in horrific little sailor suits and shit.

She loved Yuri – he know that, completely. But it was _she_ who was dependent upon him to keep them afloat, financially. It was she who depended on him to live out the remainder of her fame through his skating.

So when Yuri was fifteen, and this handsome, slightly awkward guy had actively sought him out to be friends? 

Yuri had loved him almost instantly.  
  
To be the center of someone’s care and regard completed Yuri in a way he hadn’t realized he’d craved.

And then there was the _other_ love.

The love that hurt. First love.

Motivated, Yuri rolled off the couch and to his feet. Hands on his hips, he inspected the room. Sunlight flooded in like summer, warming the gleaming hardwood floors.

“Not enough room,” he said to himself, blowing a strand of hair from his eyes.

A love that hurt, Yuri mused. He held onto that feeling in his tight chest, as he pushed the couches to the farthest edges of the room.

That pull, that longing tug which had pained him. How his limbs had almost moved without thought, enveloping Otabek’s dejected frame. Everything in Yuri had reached out to him, unconsciously or otherwise.

Yuri considered the glass coffee table and dragged it away.

Then there was the kiss. The shot of pleasure that had shaken him from head to toe, left him reeling.

Yuri rolled up his tiger-striped carpet and chucked it into the kitchen.

The way his heart had curled in on itself when he’d realized Otabek wasn’t just gone, but he wasn’t coming back. His heart had never since reopened.

Yuri stood in the center of his barren living room. He tied his hair into a high bun atop his head. Peeled off his sock, his pants, his shirt, until he was stripped down to his tight leopard boxers.

Bare.

_Yes_ , Yuri thought with a nod. He should be as bare as possible for his dance. For this skate.

Gentle would be the beginning. Hopeful and sweet.

Yuri brought his arms above his head, fingertips graceful, barely brushing his high bun.

He took a breath, shut his eyes, and let it take him where it may. If he didn’t feel it now, didn’t dance it now, write it down now, he would lose this feeling forever.

If Otabek would give him anything in this life, it would be this inspiration.

Youthful, airy jumps.  There should be multiple ones – that heady drift of love anew. Yuri could look like he was soaring on the ice. High on new, fresh love.

Yuri paused, mid-move, and took a step backwards, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. The footwork. Quick, agile, flirtatious now, would be backwards. The chase, the looks, the touches.

And the kiss. Second half of the program. Worst time to do the most difficult jumps. The perfect time. The kiss was the exultation, the trip to nirvana itself, utterly outside the body. Yuri had to fly, to spin, to catch people’s breaths in their throats.

Finally, came the fall. He’d dive into twists and then a spin, going high, then low, high, and even lower. The tumble, the fall, the confusion.

_He wasn’t supposed to forget you._

If Yuri could push himself to spin faster than ever before, this would be the place to push himself. This was the dizzying end.

Yuri burst from his crouch, his final movements filled with undeniable pain wrought across his features.

In the end, he would not flourish. He would not hold his head high in victory.

Yuri hunched over into himself, arms across over his chest, his hands gripping his own shoulders. His arms formed an X across his heart.

This was his First Love Story.

Breathing hard, Yuri dropped to the ground on newborn weak legs. He crawled across the floor, to his pants on the couch. Rifled through the pockets and unearthed his phone.

He hit the call button and waited until the exuberant answer on the other end.

“Viktor,” Yuri said, sucking in a breath of sudden excitement. “Scrap the second program we’ve been arguing over all week.”

Yuri couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m choreographing my own this time.”

_Thank you, Otabek. Looks like you gave me another first._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOBOY. Take a breath, kids, 'cause you're about to go on some wild ride. And let's all have a warm welcome to our sweet, valiant, inwardly fed up with all people except Yuri, OTABEK! Yaaaaaaay...
> 
> Ahem. Anyway. Thanks for the comments, everyone. I love to hear your thoughts. Enjoy!

Otabek returned to Russia a winner.

He’d survived the first battles, as he'd known he would. He had been able to hug his mother and spend quality time with his siblings, recharging his soul.

He loved them and his country deeply.

All the same, when he tentatively knocked on Yuri’s apartment door at seven in the morning, he carried with him more than one extra suitcase.

He’d brought three.

Otabek loved his family. He loved his country.

But he also loved Yuri.

Perhaps that made him a martyr. Perhaps a hopeless romantic, or a simple fool for putting himself back at the door of a man who clearly detested him.

Perhaps.

But here he was.

Mistakes were not something Otabek ever intended to make more than once.

The front door creaked open slowly.

The doorway framed Yuri like a picture. His electric blue eyes were foggy and heavy-lidded with sleep. Shirtless and pale, wearing a pair of what appeared to be Victoria Secret Pink sweatpants slung low on his narrow hips, Yuri lazily blinked slumber from his stare.

He had always been slow to wake.

 _God_ , Otabek thought, _I want to hold him_.

Maybe he _was_ a simple fool.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” Otabek said, searching his mind for anything to say so he wouldn’t be shut out.

The last time they’d spoken, Otabek had been utterly disastrous. The look of frantic hurt in Yuri’s eyes had plagued Otabek every day and night.

“I didn’t think to ask or get keys before I left. And I don’t have your phone number to tell you when my flight would be –“

“Beka,” Yuri said, his voice gravelly.

Otabek still couldn’t get used to that voice. No longer the one he remembered. Not at all.

Now, smooth, sensual velvet. Expressive as ever, but with the trappings of raw masculinity braided through.

“Huh?” Otabek said, blinking.

He wasn’t doing well. The separation had left him unnaturally high strung.

Yuri met his gaze, and this time his attention was clear and sharp as ice.

“Welcome back.”

“Oh, thank –“

Yuri took a step into the hall and enveloped him in a hug.

Otabek froze, his hands laying limply at his sides. With their new height difference, Otabek’s mouth was pressed against Yuri’s bare shoulder.

Slowly, a little robotically, Otabek raised his hands, waving them around a little as he tried to decide the safest spot to touch Yuri.

He settled for simply linking his arms around Yuri’s waist. Yuri certainly wasn’t as skinny as he once was. Every inch beneath Otabek’s palms were firm, sculpted muscle.

Otabek’s chest expanded, his heart unfurling, optimistically reaching towards some kind of growing light.

“Um, Yuri?” Otabek said after a moment. “Have you fallen back asleep on me?”

“No,” Yuri said, his voice muffled in the collar of Otabek’s thick parka. “Just never seen you actually come back.”

Otabek released a tense breath and closed his eyes against the guilt that threatened to rage against his heart.

There really could be nothing between them until they properly spoke. Until they knew and accepted each other.

Otabek had only ever wanted to do this relationship right. But love was a battle he hadn’t expected would involve guerrilla warfare.

“I’m back,” Otabek murmured, shifting to bury his nosy against Yuri’s throat. He smelled like warm linen sheets and this vibrant, electric scent that seemed to cling to him these days.

Yuri had always been made of lightning.

Otabek startled with a little shock when Yuri mumbled something against his coat.

“What?” Otabek said, finally moving to pull back with a frown.

Yuri retreated a step, but not in that cautious, cornered stray way that Otabek had grown used to.

His eyes were a little wide, his cheeks flushed a delicate rose.

“I said, you brought baggage.”

“I – Oh, yes. I did.” Otabek nodded. “Is that okay?”

Yuri looked up at him, his expression unreadable.

“You never bring baggage.”

“If it’s too much –“

“Nah. It just means you’re staying.”

Yuri reached past Otabek’s hip and grabbed a suitcase by the handle, rolling it in.

Otabek followed with the remaining luggage and shut the door behind him.

Otabek came to a stop, his brows raising as he surveyed the barren living room with every piece of furniture shoved to the outskirts.

“Yuri,” Otabek said with some hesitation, as he hung his coat. “May I ask what has happened in the last week?”

And why was Yuri being so suddenly open with him? Otabek had arrived, having prepared himself for a veritable ice storm, or another physical fight. Instead, he’d received a hug.

At the question, Yuri whirled around with a wide grin. His eyes gleamed.

“Two things.” He held up one finger. “First, inspiration. That would be what you see here.”

“I can’t say I’m a fan of your level of redecoration,” Otabek said warily, while removing his shoes. “What inspired you?”

“That’s number two,” Yuri said, smirking. “You.”

“Me?”

“You inspired me. After you left I just had this – this _dream_ , and –“

Yuri approached Otabek. Their gazes locked, Yuri almost vibrating with exuberance.

“And I dunno. I just saw it all in my head. I’ve been choreographing a new performance, Beka. For the first time, all mine.” Yuri had begun speaking with his hands flying as he took another step closer. “The composer of my choice, my own body moving as I choose, and not because someone wrote it for me.”

“Wow.”

Otabek smiled. Yuri’s exuberance was infectious. Especially since he rarely showed his side, so concerned had he always been with appearing tough or cool.

“That’s amazing. Really, you look happy. You look good.”

“I’m better than good,” Yuri said, suddenly making his way entirely into Otabek’s space.

Face to face, Yuri’s eyes glowed with the challenge, with the scent of victory.

“We’re on the same level now,” Yuri said. “Both of us in The Cup. Competitors again. It’s been revving me the fuck _up_ like you wouldn’t believe.”

Yuri reached between them and tangled his fingers in the collar of Otabek’s t-shirt. His expression went fierce as he loomed over Otabek and yanked him close, nose to nose.

“And I can’t wait to watch you lose to me from a story I wrote all about _you_ – us.”

Otabek breath caught in his throat. His chest tightened as his gaze flicked to Yuri’s distracting mouth. Pink and soft and quick to try and cut Otabek down.

Otabek narrowed his gaze. With his stomach doing a lazy flip, Otabek’s lips curved minutely. He bumped his chest against Yuri’s naked one. Their noses just brushed.

Yuri’s pale eyelashes fluttered, his breath a soft tremble across Otabek’s mouth.

“Yuri,” Otabek said, low and deep. “By all means – _take me on_.”

A flash of lightning heat – twin strikes anger and lust – flared in Yuri’s eyes. His arms wrapped around Otabek’s neck as he lunged forward and claimed Otabek’s lips.

A shock zinged straight to Otabek’s groin as that snarky, clever mouth accosted him.

Wildly provoked and dizzy, Otabek met Yuri’s frenzied kiss with equal passion. Devoured Yuri’s mouth, licked at his tongue, savoring the raspy little growl that worked its way up Yuri’s throat.

Otabek’s hands gripped Yuri’s hips and _oh_ , there were miles of toned, quivering body to be explored.

Yuri hummed a hungry noise, his hands wedging between them, gripping the hem of Otabek’s shirt. Their kiss met a second’s pause while Yuri yanked Otabek’s shirt off and chucked it to the ground.

Briefly, their eyes met and held.

They clashed together like warriors in opposition.

Grappling at hair, shoulders, Otabek’s belt and the button of his jeans as they clumsily danced down the hall, leaving clothes in their wake.

Keeping hold of Yuri was like grasping a livewire. They bumped into more than a few walls before they could reach the end.

Yuri remained clamped onto him – wild mouth, arms, rushing hands – as Otabek spun them both, walked them in, and pushed Yuri back onto the bed.

Blood roaring in his ears, Otabek took in the heady appearance of Yuri.

Disheveled on the bed, his hair an ethereal spill of gold across the bed, pools of morning sunlight washing over his pale, heaving chest.

Yuri chewed on his swollen bottom lip, his gaze unfocused as his attention trailed Otabek’s naked chest, down his dark, lightly curled happy trail, to where his jeans barely still clung, unzipped and unbuttoned.

This certainly wasn’t the Yuri that Otabek remembered. Naïve, unsure, and angry about it. Full of care and affection that had never had a safe place to go until Otabek had gained his trust.

This Yuri was…

Yuri sat up, his hair a waterfall down his back like some mermaid or siren, his lightning blue eyes snapping with raw desire.

He tipped his chin back, his sharp, stubborn features raising to Otabek.

Yuri met Otabek’s hungry stare with a fearlessness that made Otabek weak. Still making eye contact, Yuri hooked his fingers in the belt loops of Otabek’s jeans and pulled him atop the bed.

This Yuri was a _man_.

The realization was dizzying. Struck Otabek square in the gut and left him spinning.

For the first time, Otabek could _let go_.

Break his chains and ravage Yuri, the ever-dangerous siren who plagued his mind.

Otabek wasn’t sure where his deep groan of longing came from, but his thoughts had promptly fizzled and burnt out with primitive drive to take Yuri. _Hard_.

Everything beyond that point was a blur.

Otabek wrapping thick lengths of Yuri’s hair around and around his fist. Yanking him in to tear at Yuri’s moaning mouth with teeth and probing tongue. The scent of Yuri, of his unabashed arousal. The hard, hot length of Yuri’s erection in Otabek’s hand. Sounds, whimpers, breathless gasps.

Otabek tugging Yuri’s head back, his hand still entangled in Yuri’s hair. Feeding on Yuri’s throat, tasting that racing pulse as Otabek licked hot strips from nipple to throat to jaw.

Everything.

Everything Otabek had needed, wanted. And so much more.

Yuri was always so much more.

Otabek’s could have prayed to Yuri’s body as he watched Yuri rear up to meet him in the center of the bed.

Both kneeling, their stripped bodies pressed snug against each other, Otabek trailed his hands down, still insatiable. He gripped Yuri’s unbelievable ass, unable to stop himself from rutting his cock against the hot, smooth crevice between Yuri’s own hardness and his thigh.

Yuri sucked in a loud breath, releasing it in short, unsteady bursts of humid breath against Otabek’s ear.

Otabek reigned kisses and irrepressible nips over Yuri’s shoulders, chest, neck, his thrusts growing more erratic as Yuri murmured breathy, unintelligible coercions into Otabek’s gasping mouth.

Wordless thrusting and grinding, their lips both busy on each other’s skin, their athletic bodies utterly tireless and starved for touch.

Yuri braced a hand on Otabek’s sweat-slicked shoulder and forced enough space between them to bring his free hand down. When he wrapped his long, slim fingers around Otabek’s leaking dick and began to eagerly pump his fist, Otabek’s vision went dark.

Winded, Otabek fell forward, his brow resting on Yuri’s strong shoulder. He blinked, eyes wide open, but could see nothing when Yuri was doing something undeniably skillful and practiced with the twist of hand and wrist.

As if Yuri hadn’t already overthrown Otabek’s life, his mind, his secret heart – he now had a hold of Otabek’s body in a way that left him shuddering and helpless.

With his face buried in the damp crook of Yuri’s neck, Otabek took Yuri’s cock in his hand in turn. Yuri’s own grip slipped and faltered along with his breathy, animalistic grunts and gasps. His helpless sounds of yearning were like long, liquid tugs on Otabek’s cock. Erratic breaths entwined, fingers slid and grappled for hasty purchase. He felt himself stiffen painfully, his desire pulsing through every limb like one huge beating heart.

Sunlight bombarded the bed, their bodies creating a sauna that Otabek barely noticed.

Quickening pace, rapid pulse, their ribcages heaving.

Yuri’s breath caught in his throat, his helpless little cry of a noise breaking Otabek in half.

He shot off with a guttural groan, unconsciously sinking his teeth into Yuri’s shoulder. They both spilled over each other’s frantic, stuttering hands.

“ _Beka_ ,” Yuri said, his voice raspy and rough with pleasure as he tumbled back onto the bed.

Otabek followed mindlessly, in turn.

No one said his name like Yuri. And until now, Otabek had never heard Yuri say his name like _that_.

Even was he came down from a high, Otabek was reminded again that this powerhouse of a man saying his name was his own Yuri.

Not the little scrappy Yuri with faerie grace and easily readable emotive eyes.

This was Yuri the man. The long, lithe, dangerous wildcat, full of pent up anger and regret and loneliness.

And his eyes. Always a soldiers, always ready for a battle. Prepared to fight, expecting to win through blood and sweat and effort.

But no longer were they so readable. The barricades had been raised.

Otabek found himself utterly unsurprised that he loved every version of Yuri there ever was.

Laying there in the sheets that smelled of Yuri, Otabek’s face was sunk directly into the bed. By some miracle, his jeans were still on, just tugged down past his ass. Otabek’s arms were outstretched, one of them flopped across Yuri’s chest in the fray of their fall.

Instinctively, Otabek inclined his hand just enough to trail his fingertips alone the line of Yuri’s jaw.

Stubble. How completely bizarre to feel.

Only then did Otabek realize that Yuri’s face was stiff, his jaw gritted tight. His breathing was even and strangely calm.

Oh. _Oh_.

What the hell had just happened?

 _Shit_.

This had played out the very opposite of how Otabek had envisioned it. And he’d thought about it more times than he could care to count. For years.

A guilt-ridden, inappropriate amount of years.

Otabek had wanted candlelight. Music. Time to woo the person he’d wanted to woo since – since too long.

Instead there had been this.

Undoubtedly, this had been mind-blowing. Even as distress raced and rattled against his skull, Otabek’s treacherous body hammered with the aftershocks of Yuri’s touch.

But it should never have been this way.

Otabek owed Yuri to give him something special. Memorable. Tender.

Yuri would likely pretend those things didn’t matter, but Otabek hadn’t yet met a Russian who didn’t have a love for flair and romance.

Instead, they’d torn each other’s clothes off. Barely looked at each other. Took no time to savor, enjoy, and remember.

This experience hadn’t felt like a thoughtful gift given. This had been something frantic and stolen.

From the stiffening of Yuri’s body, and the way he wordlessly rolled off the bed and left the room stark naked, Otabek knew Yuri felt the same.

Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted this all along.

This grown man Yuri was much more difficult to interpret than in the past.

Distantly, Otabek heard the bathroom door shut and the shower start.

 _Weak_.

This was Otabek’s weakness in its prime.

Yuri and only Yuri.

Otabek had always known it. Had realized it the moment Yuri had kissed him for the first time. And he’d run then, like a coward.

Since he was alone, Otabek could take a moment to roll over and stare at the ceiling. He brought his hands to his face, pressing hard the heels of his palms against his closed eyes.

He took a deep breath.

“ _Fuck_.”

***

The last thing Otabek wanted to do was celebrate.

But he was officially in the The Cup. In addition, Viktor’s pleasant if not strange husband had returned home, so it was a double celebration.

Grim-faced, Otabek surveyed the boisterous table.

In some ways, this very much felt like those three months in which Otabek had lived and trained here. The identical group had gathered in this very restaurant on more than one occasion, in the past.

Viktor, forever a leader and performer, gestured eloquently with his hands as he told a story. His husband – whom Otabek secretly dubbed Yuuri 2.0 – constantly gazed at his partner with blatant adoration.

Georgi, who had grown up rather shockingly handsome. He was both inordinately tall and chisel-featured. Regardless, he remained the playful butt of everyone’s jokes and teasing. Otabek had always supposed it was his gullibility and dramatic reactions.

Mila poked fun at the lot of them, her laugh bawdy and loud. Otabek didn’t need to guess why she and Yuri connected so seamlessly.

And in other ways, a very distinct change had altered their party.

Yuri sat far across the large, round restaurant table, as distant from Otabek as possible.

Past Yuri would have openly sulked and shut everyone out. He’d always liked everyone to know when he was perturbed.

This Yuri barely glanced his way.

He spent the majority of the meal interjecting peoples’ stories with snarky remarks. And drinking.

And Otabek himself? He did the best he could.

Although his chest felt tight and his heart beat too fast beneath the discomfort of being surrounded in a crowded restaurant, Otabek had learned over the years how to distract himself.

He decided to concentrate on Georgi, who seemed to be the safest option at this point. Otabek could count on Georgi to carry the entire conversation. And, to be honest, Otabek quite enjoyed his company. Despite his looks, he was relatively harmless and a rather soft heart.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t enough to entirely distract him from Yuri.

His bright eyes glittered with the effects of countless vodkas. By the time they’d finished the meal, paid the bill, and headed outside, Yuri had his arm tightly around Mila’s waist. Leaning heavily into her, he whispered something in Mila’s ear in a way that had Otabek’s eyes narrowing dangerously.

They both guffawed like wild, twin grins as Viktor hailed a cab.

Otabek could not wait to get home.

Every lengthening minute of this level of socialization was like nails on a chalkboard for him. Under different circumstances, he wouldn’t be aggravated and anxious.

However, he currently still had the image of Yuri naked and cumming in his arms as of two days ago.

So, Otabek was a _little_ tense.

Over the years, after taking over his father’s business, Otabek had learned how to deal with customers – with _people_ – much better than as a teen. He’d also grown to realize that most people simply enjoyed hearing themselves talk.

As he’d done with Georgi tonight, whenever Otabek felt cornered, he would simply throw out an open-ended question and allow the person to ramble.

Otabek had also learned to appreciate company more than he once had.

Yuri had taught him that.

“Let’s all go to mine!” Yuri said, with Mila’s immediate background cheer.

Speak of the devil.

Everyone, sans Otabek, hooted and hollered. Otabek put up his hood against the cold and wished he could disappear into himself.

But it only got worse.

The drunks all decided to pile into _one_ taxi. Lord help him.

Otabek sat in the front, mentally restraining himself not to slam his head against the passenger window until he lost consciousness.

Yuri climbed in to the back seat, sitting directly behind him. Mila sat atop his lap, utterly crushed between the roof and Yuri’s body.

“This was a lot easier when you were small enough to sit on _my_ lap,” she said, a smile in her voice.

“Yeah, yeah grandma.”

Georgi headed in next, his face stern.

“I don’t want to sit in the middle. Why am I in the middle? I’m the tallest person here! And why is Otabek in front when he’s the smallest?”

Slowly, Otabek turned in his seat and struck Georgie with an unwavering stare.

Georgi froze, watching him with comically wide yes, even as Yuuri 2.0 squished himself in and Viktor joined on his lap. Otabek looked Georgi up and down, utterly stone-faced and unamused.

“Beka doesn’ like _people_ ,” Yuri said with an intoxicated drawl.

Otabek flicked his attention to Yuri and for the first time since the incident, they met eyes. Yuri quickly looked away.

“Let the hero of the night have his seat!” Viktor said with a wide smile. “Driver? Off we go!”

Otabek faced forward once more and rested his head back.

When the entire party began to sing some Russian drinking song – including Yuuri 2.0, clumsily – Otabek mutely closed his eyes and awaited the sweet kiss of death.

The second they arrived, Otabek was out of the car.

Clenching his jaw, where a muscle twitch had begun to form, Otabek breathed in the fresh, sharp scent of snow.

Everyone unloaded, with Mila toppling backwards off Yuri’s lap and out the door. Fortunately for her, she did not fall into brown slush. Otabek had swiftly stepped in and caught her by the shoulders.

“Oh!” Mila ogled him with rosy cheeks as Otabek helped her fully from the car and gently righted her to her feet. “Wow. You’re fast on _and_ off the ice, aren’t you, handsome?”

“Stop hitting on my – my roommate,” Yuri snapped as he exited the car, all long legs and extravagant fur-lined coat. His face was flushed with the drink, grimace evident as he looked at them both.

“I could’ve caught you, y’know,” Yuri said, slurring as he strode past them both.

“You’re slower than me,” Otabek said placidly, holding out an arm for Mila to cling on. She obviously couldn’t make the journey herself.

Yuri shoved his hand in the pockets of his coat and laughed as he headed up the stairs before them.

“Yeah, so says Mr Four Years Too Late.”

“Oh, ouch,” Mila said, then hiccuped delicately. “Mean.”

She looked at Otabek.

“That was mean. Did you hear that? He –“

“I heard it,” Otabek said as he navigated her into the warm building.

He couldn’t help but disagree. There was nothing that could have or should have happened four years ago.

Not by Otabek’s moral standards, anyway.

The elevator was filled with laughter and chatter. Mila had immediately dislodged herself from Otabek and seemed to say something admonishing to Yuri.

Otabek only assumed this because Yuri looked over his shoulder and made a face at _him_ as if he were chewing glass.

The elevator doors opening was the sound of freedom.

Still, Otabek waited until he was the last one out. He waited, still, while Yuri fumbled with his keys and failed to open the door. It took the effort of three drunken Russians to open that damn door.

And when everyone entered and immediately kicked off their shoes in all directions, dropping their coats in an expensive pile on the floor, Otabek took the time to hand his own coat up and set aside his shoes.

But as everyone talked over each other and headed to the kitchen, Otabek abruptly ducked into his bedroom and shut the door.

With the lights still off, Otabek limply flopped back against the door and closed his eyes. He took slow breaths, his hands fisting and loosening at his sides as he urged the tension from his body.

Yuri’s muffled laugh could be heard through the door. Far away.

So far away.

Otabek rubbed his hands roughly over his face.

How many steps backward would Otabek make them take before they hit a wall and there was no more left for him to fuck up?

Twin swords of anger and shame stabbed through Otabek’s chest.

He had brought them to this point. Now, more than once.

First, when they’d been young and Otabek taken by surprise. He’d lost control. Second, again by surprise. Again, his control had failed him.

How many times would he allow himself to fall into the trap of Yuri’s persuasive lips?

As far as Otabek was concerned, none of his actions had been those of a good man. A true man would be chaste until appropriate, until the right time. A real man had a code of conduct.

Otabek’s code of conduct always seemed to crumble to moment Yuri said his name.

Well, no more.

Otabek released one shaky breath and began to carefully undress. In black boxers alone, he collapsed into bed and let himself sink in and drift.

No more weakness.

Otabek had come back for a purpose.

Yes, to skate. But always, over everything, to bring Yuri back.

To win him the _right_ way.

Otabek only prayed that Yuri would let him.

***

 

Warmth. So inviting.

Otabek murmured in his sleep, his hips arching a little in response to the molten tug in his belly that slid lower.

A brush of fingers at his thigh. Hot, wet mouth trailing his hip.

When those clever lips parted and licked at the growing bulge between his legs, through his boxers, Otabek gasped a strangled breath and shot up in bed.

His sleep-fogged eyes frantically searched the bed in the deep dark, his heartbeat frantic. His eyes adjusted quickly, but not fast enough.

Yuri was already rising up, slapping a hand on Otabek’s chest to push him back on the bed.

When Otabek quickly grabbed Yuri’s wrist and held it firm, Yuri just hummed and giggled. He lithely loomed in until their noses brushed. He reeked of booze.

“S’fine,” Yuri said, his voice dreamy, sleepy, seductive. “Just sex. Doesn’ mean anything.”

“Yuri,” Otabek said with his brow furrowed, trying to read Yuri’s face in the dark.

“You don’t care, d’you?”

Yuri cupped the back of Otabek’s neck with his free hand and clumsily attempted to clump into Otabek’s lap in a gesture that was starting to feel like a trend.

“ _Hey_ ,” Otabek said, a little high pitched in panic, as he scooched back until he was sitting on his pillow, shoulders against the headboard. He had nowhere to go now.

There was no escaping Yuri. He was all tangled limbs and strong grip and little bites at his earlobe.

“Yuri – _dammit_ –“

Otabek fumbled with Yuri’s hands – how many did he have?! – and with a desperate push, sent him tumbling back onto the mattress.

Swiftly straddling Yuri’s stomach, Otabek cuffed his fingers around both of Yuri’s wrists above his head, pinning him down.

“ _Mmm_ , I like this too,” Yuri said with hooded eyes and a crooked smile.

“Just shut up and listen,” Otabek said, biting off each word.

He did not need this right now. Otabek spent every moment in Yuri’s presence harnessing control. And since two fateful days ago, it had become infuriatingly more trying.

Leaning in to a now confused, frowning Yuri, Otabek searched his face for any sign of recognition.

“What?” Yuri said sharply, nearly pouting as he squirmed distractingly beneath Otabek’s spread thighs.

“Look at me,” Otabek said lowly. Yuri met his eyes, his chin jutting in familiar defiance.

“Good,” Otabek murmured.

He pressed his lips together tightly, thinking, not breaking eye contact.

“If you remember _anything_ of this night when you wake up, let it be this. Anything that happens between us means everything. Do you understand?”  


“ _Liar_ ,” Yuri said, baring his teeth like some wild animal. “You – you – that didn’t mean anything to you. You were like, just totally unaffected every time I ran into you! And _tonight_ , you just listening to Georgi talk like he was the most _interesting_ fucking, uh, person in the goddamn world! You just go along with your life, immune to _everything_. I mean, I get that I jumped you and that was fun and uh, god yeah, it was great – who wouldn’t like it? But the way you just – you just _live on_ like nothing happened and I’m a fucking mess pisses me the _fuck_ off.”

Yuri breathed like he’d run a marathon, his hands fisted where Otabek still held them at the wrists. And while he was undoubtedly beyond drunk, he also very obviously had snapped out of whatever _this_ was. He acted and sounded like Yuri again.

Otabek simple stared, his expression twisted up in blatant confusion.

“Yuri. You…”

“What?” Yuri said, softer now, almost burned out of anger and blame and nerves, it seemed.

“You really haven’t grown up.”

“Hey! Who the fuck do you think –“

“Do you really think I’ve remained unaffected? Is this really entirely about you? That you can just come into my room whenever you please and – what – seduce me?”  
Otabek felt his face go hot, his usually mild temper starting to simmer and smoke.

Yuri was silent and wide-eyed as Otabek barreled onward.

“Don’t walk around thinking you’ll ever do this again. Don’t you dare assume I’m not going through hell just being near you. And don’t even think about ignoring what I’ve said.”

Yuri’s mouth moved wordlessly like a goldfish out of water.  
“What you – what you said.”

“Say it,” Otabek said, his voice dark and firm, barely repressed frustration. He squeezed Yuri’s wrists.

Yuri blinked owlishly. He swallowed, flicked his gaze down and away.

“Any… Anything that happens here means everything.”

Otabek’s intensity collapsed as quickly as it had built up.

Abruptly, he released Yuri and sat back on the bed.

“Get out,” Otabek said softly. He was so tired. And hell if he wouldn’t relive Yuri’s mouth between his thighs for the rest of the night.

Yuri didn’t even look at him.

He stood, swayed a little in place, and left, leaving the door open behind him.

Otabek sat there for a long time, staring blankly at the doorway.

Apart or together, Yuri was going to be the death of him. At the very least, he’d be grey by thirty.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would have waited for you, Beka. Now? I don’t wait for anyone or anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a whole month to come out! I actually got a kidney transplant three weeks ago after being on dialysis for two years, so I've been in big-time healing mode and couldn't concentrate on typing or anything. But here's the next chapter of our drama. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. Someone commented and told me this was the dramatic, heart-wrenching Otayuri fic they had been hoping to find, and I am honored by that! Please enjoy and comment and share this with folk! I'm atomicblonde on Tumblr, and I follow the tag 'lalazee' and 'fic: four years a soldier'.

Yuri woke to the smell of bacon, which was already a more promising start to the day than the entirety of yesterday.

What a fucking disaster.

Otabek had ruined him, Yuri decided as he rolled his hungover corpse from the bed.

Ruined him for life. For any man in the future. Hell, had simply fucked Yuri’s mental resolved at any given hour of the day.

From the moment Yuri had collapsed beside Otabek on the bed and realized this had been a huge mistake, to the moment Otabek had told him to get out two days later, Yuri had known he would never be the same.

Not that he hadn’t slept with people before. He’d had many men, actually. Probably what most would consider too many. All of them tall, dark, and handsome. All of them intense. None of them Otabek Altin.

That _asshole_.

And then he’d been there, standing in Yuri’s doorway looking tired and apologetic with sad, dark eyes and quiet voice. And he’d _come back_.

Yuri’s faltering defenses had shattered.

He’d all but leapt into Otabek’s forever strong, solid, comforting arms and hugged him.

From that point, everything had dashed from the starting line. Yuri’s excitement in sharing his progress, the rising passion that came from it, and the way Otabek had matched it.

Yuri had spent the next two days thinking about what happened next. Reliving it. Touching himself.

No one had ever touch him, kissed him, like he was the center of the universe. No one had ever assaulted his senses so entirely, so thoroughly drove him toward madness.

Never had Yuri _ever_ seen Otabek so – so consumed by his emotions, so driven by need and desire. He had been a vision, incredible and overwhelmingly sexy with his bruising hands and insatiable mouth.

Everything had happened so fast, burned so intense.

And when Yuri had finally flopped to the mattress, literally gaping in shock at the ceiling, all which remained from that fire was the raw burn.

What the hell had Yuri done?

They still barely knew each other.

Well, in some ways, they were always in each other’s heads. They couldn’t have been as close as they were for those three months and not taken something away about the other.

Even so, there remained so many questions. So much hurt, suspicion, distrust. All from Yuri’s side.

All of this unfinished history between them, and Yuri had gone and complicated things further.

He couldn’t even begin to guess where Otabek’s head was at. Yuri had expected Otabek to be angry, later. Or maybe approach him and apologize.

What Yuri hadn’t expected was for Otabek to continue on with life as usual.

Okay, they’d barely exchanged full sentences, but as a whole, Otabek had appeared incredibly well put together. And by the celebration last night, Yuri had been a mass of frayed nerves. Upset over keeping this all in. Angry at Otabek for being wholly unaffected after essentially punching Yuri in the face with passion. Sad that they were even further apart than he thought they could be. And straight up mortified that he’d been the catalyst for their bedroom disaster.

And last night, when everyone had passed out cold on the now righted couches and floor, Yuri could do nothing but think of the man closed up in his room, and remember what his skin tasted like, and how shockingly receptive he was to Yuri’s touch.

Again, Otabek had simply ruined him.

Desperation was not something Yuri had ever been familiar with. Desperation to win – hell yeah. Desperation for the attention of a man – hell no. Yuri Plisetsky did not beg.

But beg last night, he did. Throw himself at Otabek, he did. Make excuses and pleas, he did.

He’d been right to be shut down.

With a grim face and a pounding head, Yuri dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, and pulled his hair into a high, tight ponytail.

Had Otabek known all along? How Yuri would feel? Or was he as clueless about Yuri as Yuri was about Otabek?

Maybe… Maybe sometime Yuri would ask about what happened.

Everything was getting weird and complicated. Yuri didn’t like complicated. And he knew Otabek felt the same. And right now, things were as complicated as they could get.

Padding down the hall in bare feet, hands shoved in the pockets of his deep blue sweats, Yuri made his way towards the kitchen and bacon smell. He expected Porkchop to be there, feeding his pig addiction.

So it gave him a moment’s pause when he saw Otabek at the stove. He was in black sweats and a black shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

Yuri’s mouth watered, and it wasn’t from the bacon.

Yuri couldn’t help but admire the thick arms and shoulders, the way his compact body carved such muscle. He’d been a lot leaner four years ago. Whatever he’d been doing back home had made him strong. Beefy, to be honest.

But Yuri had seen Otabek staking and his movements remained as smooth and true as ever. If anything, his jumps were now more impressive because those thick thighs enabled him to leap to unbelievable heights.

Yeah, Otabek was as majestic as ever.

Briefly, Yuri flashed to Otabek wrapping his hand around Yuri’s hair and using it to yank his head back to expose his throat.

Yuri cleared his throat, glad that Otabek visibly startled a little.

“Hey.”

“ _Oh_.” Otabek stared at him a second. Then, to Yuri’s horror, maybe smiled a little. “Hey. I made food. I assumed no one else would be able to manage.”

“You could have left them to starve,” Yuri said, trying to find his footing in his own kitchen. He’d never been much of a cook, but right now what he was trying to gauge was what Otabek was playing at. Were they pretending nothing had happened, again?

But what about the thing he was supposed to remember?

_Anything that happens between us means everything._

“True,” Otabek said, warm amusement in his voice. His attention remained on flipping the slowly crisping bacon in the skillet. His hair was damp and shining from a recent shower.

Yuri could still remember how easy it had always been to talk to him. From day one, Otabek had never been a cold or hard person. He was a never really unkind, either – just a little blunt in some peoples’ opinion.

If anything, despite Yuri’s notorious emotional outbursts, his apparent bloodthirsty competitiveness, and infamous crying on the ice, Yuri knew he was colder and crueler than Otabek would ever be. This was simply how he functioned.

He was cold to keep people at arm’s length. He was cruel when they just didn’t get the picture.

Otabek… Yuri didn’t know if he wanted to have him closed or further just yet.

What he did know, however, was that he missed their conversations. He could admit it to himself in the warmth of his kitchen, with Otabek looking and talking like he’d always belonged there. He could admit this to himself after Otabek sent him away last night with the explanation that Yuri really _did_ matter.

Here, now, Yuri could admit that he missed his friend. And maybe Yuri would have to be a tiny bit cruel to push them toward that direction. Only then, maybe friendship, the comfort of Otabek’s presence, could be enough.

Less complicated for them both.

“Hey,” Yuri said, hopping up to sit on the counter a short distance from Otabek and the crackling bacon fat.

“Hmmm?” Otabek said, obviously distracted by his cooking. He was lifting bacon from the pan and transferring it to a paper toweled plate.

“Thanks for yesterday.”

Otabek stilled briefly, didn’t look up, and kept on with his job. His shoulders hiked up just an inch.

“What do you mean?” he said, sounding guarded.

“I mean, it’s good nothing happened,” Yuri said with forged ease, watching Otabek’s profile for the most miniscule change. “I didn’t want anything to happen either, honestly. I was just dumb and drunk and you were close. I don’t even think it was supposed to happen the first time. I think… I think I’m just confusing being – being happy you’re back and other stuff. You – I – yeah. I guess it would be cool to be friends again. Just friends.”

When Otabek didn’t say anything immediately, just moved to the fridge and stuck his head inside, Yuri squirmed in his seat.

“You know?” Yuri said, unable to shut himself up. “I mean…. You came back here to, like, be friends again. Right?”  
  
“Very true,” Otabek said as he withdrew with a carton of eggs in hand. He returned to the softly sizzling pan, appearing far from angry or hurt. He didn’t look happy either, but that didn’t say much. “There are very few things in this world I desire more than your friendship.”

His reply only made Yuri want to ask what he desired more.

Before he could reply, Otabek spoke again, his voice giving away nothing that Yuri could distinguish.

“Get everyone up. Food’s almost ready.”

For a moment, Yuri’s attention lingered on Otabek’s deft hands cracking eggs into the bacon fat. Finally, he nodded and headed out.

Maybe there could be a possibility that they didn’t ruin each other.

***

Monday felt oddly serene. They’d both had their alarms set in tandem. Both ate oatmeal silently on the couch while snow fell in the still, stark blue morning. Both got ready and headed out the door at the same time. It felt so easy and simple to get ready and breakfast together, rather than work to avoid each other every morning.

This morning, Yuri felt more confident that he’d made the right decision. The safer decision.

At least he was learning to be less reckless over the years, Yuri thought, mentally patting himself on the back. No more impulsive Yuri. Not when it came to Otabek, anyway.

Despite Otabek asking him to join him for lunch at break time, Yuri declined. Not because of Otabek. Because of his program. His First Love dance had been conceptualized way later in the game than anyone else’s programs. Many skaters around the world had probably already started theirs in June or July.

Here was November and The Cup in early December.

But Yuri was determined. With ear buds blasting the dramatic rise and fall of his innocence lost, Yuri had the entire rink to himself at lunch.

So, he flew. His spins had undoubtedly gained momentum in practice. He would dizzy any onlookers, leave them in awe.

Viktor had led him along in graceful, sweeping hand, arm, and head movements. Head thrown back in ecstasy, arms reaching out and shrinking back. His jumps were pure magic – the true flight of love.

From the corner of Yuri’s eye, he spotted a familiar figure in black skimming towards him.

Yuri’s lips quirked, but he refused to recognize Otabek’s presence.

Falling out of line with his program, he increased speed, as if to escape.

He couldn’t be surprised when Otabek fell into step beside him, anyway. The guy was deceptively quick.

Yuri couldn’t help it. He turned around, skating backwards, and met Otabek’s eyes. Neither of them seemed to be able to hinder their twin grins.

Yuri held out a hand. Otabek took it. They flew together.

Yuri led, pulling Otabek in, spinning him out. When Yuri fled, his arms outstretched before him, Otabek followed close behind.

It was to Yuri’s surprise, however, when Otabek came from behind and placed his hands on Yuri’s waist. The touch, while less intimate than so many others between them, was electric. Yuri held his breath and jumped, utterly trusting Otabek as strong working hands seemed to lift and elevate him with little effort.

Yuri couldn’t help his own boisterous laugh as Otabek threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and continued to skate on.

“Lemme go, you goddamn gorilla!” Yuri yelled, still laughing as the earbuds fell from his ears.

Artfully, Otabek spun Yuri into his arms and promptly tossed Yuri forward into the air like a doll, forcing Yuri to embrace a double axel jump as he went.

He landed with a wild flourish, his grin wide, his cheeks hot from the exuberant exertion.

Yuri spun around, skating backwards again, but slowly, ready to be caught. Otabek met up with him until they were simply leading and following, a stroll on the ice as they stared at each other, both smiling like idiots.

Distant clapping and hooting had them both looking over. The entire training team, including some juniors had been watching the performance.

“Guess lunch is over,” Yuri said as he back to skate toward rinkside, Otabek gliding beside him.

“You guess right. I missed skating with you.”

“Same,” Yuri said easily, only because the moment made it so. “Thought shouldn’t _I_ be throwing _you_?”

“I do the throwing,” Otabek said deftly, and that was definitely that.

Yuri couldn’t help but laugh again and slap Otabek on the shoulder.

“Yeah, okay, Big Guy.”

As they approached and stepped off the ice, allowing the juniors to pile past, Yuri couldn’t help but notice a strange look on Viktor’s face. And that was saying something.

Otabek went his own way to Coach Yakov and Yuri frowned at Viktor as he walked over on his skates.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Yuri said, already scowling.

“You,” Viktor said with a burst, so loudly that people on the ice looked over their shoulders. He slapped his own hands over his mouth, his bright eyes wide and sparkling.

“Are you broken or something?”

“Yurio!” Viktor surged with movement, taking Yuri by the arm and bringing him weirdly close. Viktor’s gaze was open and earnest and watery. “ _You_. You’re in love with him.”

“ _What_?” Yuri ripped himself from Viktor’s grip and punched his shoulder. “Are you fucking crazy? Of course I’m not! We barely even know each other these days.”

“But you slept together,” Viktor said reverently, inching unnervingly closer once more. “He’s your lover, isn’t he?”

“ _What_? No!”

“I can tell, you know. I can see it a mile away. The way you skate together –”

“Was for _fun_ , you crazy old queen.” Yuri took Viktor’s shoulders in both of his hands, looked that puppy-dog face square in the eye. “Just because you lived happily ever after in some surreal gay ice skating soap opera romance doesn’t mean I will. Or anyone else will. There’s nothing going on there. We’re friends. So _drop_ it.”

Viktor opened his mouth. Yuri put his hand over it to smother him.

“No more!”

When Viktor finally nodded, Yuri sighed and dropped his hand.

“If you’re not in love with him,” Viktor said quietly, “He definitely is with you.”

To that, Yuri had no reply.

***

The next evening, both Yuri and Otabek’s phones beeped at the same time.

Sprawled on the long, black leather couch, their aching feet propped up on the coffee table as a movie ran on television, they glanced curiously at each other.

“Group text,” Yuri said, picking up his phone to read. He frowned.

According to Coach Yakov, The Cup assignments were in. Yuri was lucky enough to be staying in Russia. Looked like Otavek was going to China.

And the Grand Prix Finale would be held in –

Barcelona.

Yuri looked up and over to Otabek.

Otabek was already studying him, his brows knit together.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Yuri said, instinctively going for annoyed.

“Just looking,” Otabek said, holding his hands up in innocence.

Yuri pointedly stared at the TV, grumping inwardly and wondering why this bothered him so much.

Old memories, he supposed. Weren’t they both trying to move forward from their shared past? It would be rather hard to forget when it would all be staring at him in the face again.

“It’ll be strange,” Otabek said quietly, after some time.

“It’s whatever,” Yuri said flatly, toying with his phone in hand.

“Maybe,” Otabek said, still looking at the television.

“A little weird,” Yuri said begrudgingly.

“You know,” Otabek said with a strange tone to his voice, “When I’d first seen you would be in my division, I was terrified.”

“What?” Yuri turned then, a half-smile on his face. “You? Since when are you scared of anything?”

“I was scared I would say something stupid and embarrass myself in front of you. I’d admired you since we first met. You didn’t know I existed.”

“I mean, you did say I had eyes like a soldier,” Yuri said with a sharp grin, pinching Otabek’s arms lightly.

Otabek slid him an amused look.

“And you still do.”

Yuri smiled.

“And you still say some weird shit.”

“And yet here you remain.”

“You’re in _my_ house, actually, buddy.”

“Touché.”

“They both looked at each other and chuckled.

“Can’t say anyone had ever officially asked to be my friend,” Yuri said. “How could I say no?”

Otabek had been so intense and honest and handsome. What could Yuri have done?

“Those were some of the best times of my life,” Otabek said, meeting his eyes.

A sliver of panic injected into Yuri’s spine.

“Until it wasn’t,” he said. “For either of us.”

Yuri could see the realization leech into Otabek’s gaze, darken and dampen that ease between them. And immediately felt like an asshole.

“Sorry,” Yuri said quickly. “I’m sor–”

“Just as I had been scared to meet you,” Otabek said stiffly, “I’d been terrified to stay with you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Otabek said quietly, although his gaze was anything but easygoing, “That when you kissed me, everything I’d felt for you had taken over quicker than I could have ever anticipated.”

Yuri frowned, folded his arms stubbornly over his chest and glanced away.

“So what? What’s the big fucking deal? I obviously felt the same at the time.”

“I don’t think so,” Otabek said, his voice tight. “I don’t think that would have been possible.”

“Fuck you,” Yuri said, with less heat than he’d hoped. “You don’t know shit about how I’d felt because you _ran_.”

“I know that you were _fifteen_ , Yuri,” Otabek said sharply, causing Yuri to snap his mouth shut in mute obedience. “I know that there’s no fifteen year old alive who really knows what they want or how they feel, especially when it comes to romance –”

Yuri scoffed at the word romance. Otabek pinned him with a look and continued.

“I know that you were too young for the things that _I_ wanted. And I’d tried so hard to ignore those things I’d wanted. But I was weak and I released those desires. And it terrified me. Not just because I’d never felt that way for a person in my life, but because there was something about you… And my level of attraction to you that combined to convince me that I simply _could not_ be safely around you.”

Yuri just stared, a little wide-eyed, a lot bewildered.

“You’re saying…” Yuri swallowed, searching Otabek’s face, trying to sift through the confession. “You’re saying that you were in love with me.”

“I’m so sorry, Yuri,” Otabek said, his eyes deep and earnest. “I couldn’t stay. I was so frightened. And helpless when it came to what to do with you. And so fucking disappointed in myself for the way I’d handled your advance. I didn’t trust myself. I was already a man and you just – you just weren’t entirely there yet. It was… it was because I loved you that I felt so strongly that I couldn’t and shouldn’t keep you yet.”

“So you left,” Yuri said hollowly.

“Yes.”

“Without a word.”

“I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t feel right just blaming it on the loss of my father. And I couldn’t tell you the truth. I know – knew – know, who you are. Had you known I’d loved you, you’d have chased me down.”

“You’re damn fucking right I would have!”

Livid, Yuri flew from his seat.

“So, you’re telling me that you took _all_ knowledge and _all_ choice away from me? What the fuck is _wrong_ with you, Beka? And for so long? For _so long_. Why? What were you thinking with that twisted knight in shining armor ideal of yours?”

“I was trying to –”

“And not a word. Nothing. Like you were too good for me or something. Older than me never meant we couldn’t keep in _touch_. What were you _thinking_?”

“I wanted –”

“I loved you too, you know.” Yuri heard his voice crack, his eyes wet with hot, angry indignation. “I would have waited for you. For however long.”

Weak from his own explosive anger, Yuri didn’t even fight when Otabek reached out and took both of Yuri’s hands. Still sitting, Otabek peered up, his own gaze glistening.

“I know. I know you’d have wanted. And I wanted it so badly.”

“So why did you…”

“More than that, I wanted you to have your freedom. Had we kept talking the whole time I was away, you would never have looked elsewhere. You would never have experienced your own freedom. A fifteen, sixteen, seventeen year old stuck to someone so far, so unattainable? That was not a life I wanted for someone I cared about so deeply. And I – and I wanted to be a better man for you. I needed to be.

“I stayed home. I took my father’s place at our family’s auto repair shop. I kept our business alive until my younger sister could take over. I made money for the family. Cast aside my skating career to be near them. They needed me more than anyone.

“And I never forgot you. Not for one single day. Everything – _everything_ I did was to become a better man. A man who could come back and face the great man I knew you’d grow to be. And I prayed that I’d somehow find a way back into your life. Yuri…”

Yuri released Otabek’s hands. His heart was rattling against his ribs like a freight train. He wasn’t sure he was breathing.

“That’s –” Yuri swallowed and found himself unable to look Otabek in the eye. “That’s nice and all. Or whatever. But none of that – _none_ of that was your choice alone to make. I would have waited for you, Beka. Now?”

Yuri turned away and headed towards his room.

“I don’t wait for anyone or anything.”


End file.
